


Words

by orphan_account



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: (Mentions of) Verbal Abuse, Other, Self-Harm, Slurs, Suicide Attempt, Trans Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-14
Packaged: 2018-01-19 09:09:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1463746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crona isn’t entirely sure whether or not it’s a hallucination, but ever since they were a child, they’ve always had words written on their body.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of those hypothetical “what if everything you thought about yourself was written on your body for all to see?” type of ideas…except sort of literal.
> 
> This isn’t in the same ‘verse as my other CroMa stories, though I am gonna use a similar theme in one of those I think.
> 
> Also Crona is nonbinary here because I don’t see fic where that’s the case enough…and yeah.

Crona isn’t entirely sure whether or not it’s a hallucination, but ever since they were a child, they’ve always had words written on their body. The words are like tattoos, or black blood stains or something, always spelling out the names they’ve been called,

And almost always permanent.

Whenever they take off their clothes, they can see the names marking up their skin, along with other faded lacerations from their failed attempts. Things Medusa, Ragnarok, and other passersby have said: _garbage_ and  _filth,_  scrawled across their stomach,  _stupid_  and  _bitch,_ tucked beneath their bangs,  _experiment, alien, cunt, idiot, pussy,_ it’s a lot of the reason they wear such a somber black dress all the time, to keep the stains covered up.

They don’t want anyone else to have to read the words.

 _They’re just for me,_ Crona thinks.  _I am them._

By the time Crona and Ragnarok have devoured the ghost ship, Crona’s entire body is almost entirely filled up with them; line by line, describing what their existence is worth, which isn’t much, they can only assume.  _And it doesn’t matter anyway,_ Crona thinks one night as they wash themself in the shower, dejected, their soul feeling twisted from all of Ragnarok’s shared bloodlust. They watch as the scalding water cleans away the dirt and the blood of others, swirling trails of brown down the train, but never taking any of the words with it.

_It doesn’t matter anyway._

That same night, exhausted, Crona lies on the floor in that dark room, the one Medusa always sends them to, staring at the empty walls. Spending too much time in the room never leads to good, and it’s why Crona’s decided that they’re going to try to and snap their own neck with a noose from the high ceiling; Ragnarok could stop bleeding, and always did whenever Crona was in a hopeless haze, but could the weapon unbreak bones?

Crona giggles to themself, not entirely sane and not at all cheerful, as they make the noose with rope from the corner.

They set themself up, kick the stool out from under, and the sudden yank around their neck is excruciating, sudden tightness choking them, bruising…the pain  _burns_ and then it all turns to white noise, they lose track of time, feel themselves starting to slip away…

Until Ragnarok finally slips out, and bites the noose free; Crona collapses onto the tile, hacking for breath.

“Don’t be so selfish, you idiot!” Ragnarok complains, “If you die, I die, and I wanna live!”

Crona’s much too suffocated to speak, but through the pain they can feel the word being spelled out across their throat:

_Selfish._

(+)

After that, Crona is beyond the point of being ashamed or worrying someone will see. The next night, as they fight a person named Maka in the underground of Shibusen, they’re so zoned out that they can’t even care if she can see the ugly scar which makes a ring around their neck now, the dirty words atop the scar, as they fight her.

They can’t even care, at least, not until this person named Maka is standing on the beach inside their soul, telling them that lines are erased.

Telling them that the reason for their worthlessness, the reason for all those words, is simply because no one ever thought to care.

No one, except for her, at least.

(+)

Crona sleeps for two days, after being taken to the Shibusen dungeon. Finally waking up one morning, weary but relieved, Crona sits in a corner, and waits for their verdict. Once they’ve been told that they can leave the room to clean themself up, they remove their clothing to take a shower, only to look down and suddenly find:

All the words on their skin are gone.

“But how?” they mutter to themself. “W-where did they go?!”

Frantically, they probe themself, hands dragging across clean, pale skin for the first time in so long; then they search for them all over the room, even crawling around on the floor to see if they fell off somehow. They’re nowhere to be found.

They stand again, and stare at themself in the mirror on the closet door. A blank body, a blank slate. It doesn’t even look right…tears form in their eyes without them even understanding why.

_Is this what getting a second chance feels like?_

“Maka…”

It must’ve been her; must’ve been what she did for them in their soul that night, must be the way that the dry beach is filled with ocean water now.

Maybe that water is what’s somehow made them clean.

They and Maka get close very quickly, after that; it’s hard not to when she’s so nice to them and open with them, and they can’t believe she genuinely enjoys being their friend. (They also can’t believe that no bad words have come back, not that they would ever tell her any of that, she thinks they are normal and they finally _feel_ a little normal…)

Maka is holding Crona’s hand one day, and Crona is looking out at the view of Death City, on the sunny balcony. Soon, they realize that she is staring at them affectionately; they look over, flustered, embarrassed.

“What is it?” Crona asks.

She says besides them, with a wide smile,

“You look cute today.”

Warmth creeps up all over Crona’s face.

“Really?…But…I-I look the way I always do.”

“I know.” She leans forward, gently pinches their nose, the way she does when she thinks they’re being silly. They blush even more. “Still cute.”

And later, once the flush all over their body has started to cool off, they pull up and the sleeve of their dress and find the word there on their wrist:

C _ute,_ written neatly over a fading scar.

They run their fingers over it, feeling like they might just pass out from all the happy.

_People can call me nice names, too…_

(+)

And then there are more of them. In secret, after she leaves their room each evening, they pull off their clothes in order to eagerly search for them on their skin, finding them in a new place each time:  _Nice,_ between their shoulder blades, _sweet,_ above their heart, _soft, lovely, kind, supportive, good friend._

 _Kissable,_ and eventually, even _partner,_ tucked away near the small of their back.

And things are getting heavier between them and Maka each time they kiss; they can feel the way she toys with the hems their clothing, the way she leads their hands to touch beneath her skirt, and helps them tug it down; she feels safe enough with them to show them her body, and Crona wants to give that in return, but they get nervous whenever it’s time for them to show  _their_ skin;

They aren’t sure they’re ready to show her the words…

Because even still, even though they’re positive now…they have to be strange. Crona looks at themself in the mirror, sees the splatters of black text and realizes that no one  _else,_ no  _other_ human being, has this kind of thing happening to them. Crona has seen other bodies, seen Maka’s body, and knows others don’t have what they have…don’t have these markings and scars all over.

It’s weird. If Maka saw, she would think that they wrote on themself on purpose, or never showered, or that their body was alien for tattooing itself, right? Or that their  _brain_ was broken for projecting imaginary ink stains there…maybe she’d think they were crazy…

One night during a makeout session, Maka stops the two of them halfway through undressing herself…she can tell Crona is uncomfortable with following her lead up ‘til this point.

“I’m sorry,” she says after they slow down, buttoning her top back up. “I know this has to be a lot for you…”

“No, it’s…” Crona  _is_ sorry that she won’t be pressing her soft skin against theirs, as they watch it disappear beneath her shirt, but… “It’s just, there are things about m-my body that I don’t like.”

Maka nods solemnly, almost fully redressed again.

“I get that,” she says. She reaches for Crona’s hands, and they hold onto hers, tight.

“But I like everything about you,” Maka promises. “I would never dislike anything I found.”

Then she kisses them; warm and full and it makes Crona feel so much joy, that they want to believe what she says…

When she pulls back, Crona is clearly flustered; tonight it still feels like too much, but maybe some other time…

“A-another night, soon,” they promise back. “Okay?”

Maka smiles, patient as ever.

“Okay.”

(+)

But on the day Crona’s decided they are ready, the day she plans to spend the night, causing nerve-racked butterflies to beat against Crona’s stomach all afternoon…Crona has a particularly bad day. They kiss Maka in the hallway between classes, casual like they usually do; though, it  _does_ feel more weighty than usual, the way she smiles as she walks away, the promise of what’s to come later mischievously tugging at her lips, making Crona feel a trembling in their thighs.

On their way through the crowded hall, after she’s gone…someone who’d seen the two of them kissing, a random student

Mutters “freak” at them, in passing.

A coldness drips down their spine at the sound.

They shut their eyes tight; not all students at the academy are as good as Maka and her friends, they know that, but they’d gone so long without criticism, and now, and now…

Now they’re starting to spiral, to feel sick.

Dread tugs at their stomach. In the darkness of their mind, images of Maka suddenly turning on them, seeing them naked and calling them bad names that could stick, dance through their head, unrealistic though they probably are. The word echoes in their mind over and over, and then they start to feel a familiar itching sensation on the surface of their skin, just below their abdomen…

“No, no, no, no…”

They hurry to the nearest bathroom, lock themself in a stall, and pull up the dress to see it nestled there stubbornly between their hips, larger than all the rest of the words:

_FREAK._

Tears sting at their eyes, the harshness of the word staring up at them like doomsday. And a drop of black blood-ink from the edge of the ‘K’ is rolling down their leg, eventually pooling on the tile in defeat.

 Despite all the wonderful things Maka has called them.

(+)

They try to let themself go that night regardless, to lose themself in the moment. Maka’s in their lap without a shirt, the two of them are kissing and Crona feels heat between their bodies, this need to feel her heat all over them, but…

Her hands have the skirt of their robe pushed all the way up past their legs, and her eyes are closed as her fingers trail up their inner thighs and…

“Is this okay?” she whispers against their lips. She pulls the skirt up more, slow, meeting Crona’s heavy-lidded gaze with her own. “Can I?”

Crona stares at Maka’s lips, hands wrapped around her back, and they really do want to share this with her…she’s made them feel so cared for.

“Wait,” Crona says, calmly.

She slides her hands back down a bit, patient.

“I-I want to show you, it’s just…” Crona swallows, gazing at her body nervously, hands toying with her little waist. “I’m not like you. My body is weird.”

“Weird?” Maka cocks her head to one side. “Everyone’s is, a little.” She touches her own chest, smiling slightly. “Just look at my excuse for boobs,” she only half-jokes.

_Excuse? But, they’re perfect…_

“You’re beautiful,” Crona murmurs. They drag their hands up and down her sides admiringly.

Maka kisses Crona’s lips, long, slow, meaningful.

“I think…you’re beautiful too, Crona,” she says between kisses.

Crona closes their eyes, inhales, and gasps a little when they feel an itch scattering across their inner thigh,

Spelling out the word:

_Beautiful._

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to, but.” She kisses the corner of their mouth as their heart rate steadily skyrockets. “Just know that anything you show me won’t change my mind.”

And suddenly, feeling fulfilled by the newly added word, Crona’s started to gather their resolve. They unbutton the collar, tugs their arms out of the long sleeves, and pull the whole dress over their head…leaving them in all but their underwear.

Naked, in front of her. Their resolve doesn’t feel quite as solid as it just did…Crona holds their breath, watching her watch them.

And Maka doesn’t look surprised at all. Her eyes, empathetic, wander and roam between their hips and their face, pausing for an especially somber moment at the fading scar that rings itself Crona’s neck. She can see that there are faint scars everywhere on their body, and that Crona is bony, but…nothing unusual besides. She just looks…calm. She’s also starting to blush.

“I don’t see anything wrong at all,” she says.

Crona looks down at themself, gravely serious. The black words are all still there, all over their arms and torso, real as ever…

Their face turns red fast, then they look back at her, shocked.

“You mean you can’t see them?!”

Maka looks puzzled. “See what, Crona?”

They’re embarrassed now. “The words.” They duck their head. “I um…whenever someone calls me a name, the name shows up on my arms, or my stomach, or anywhere, written in black blood o-or ink.”

They stare at themself.  _The words are here…I can see them._

“I can see words all over my skin.”

They shut their eyes tight.

_She must think I’m crazy._

Crona’s running their hands all over themself now, nervous; Maka doesn’t look like she doubts them, though, not a bit. She tilts her head curiously, and then reaches for Crona’s hands; runs her silky thumbs over their knuckles, and gazes at their body with the softest gaze they’ve ever felt.

“What do the words say?” she coaxes gently.

They pull one of their hands away.

“You can’t see them,” they mutter. “S-so, I-I think it doesn’t matter anyway…”

She continues rubbing the hand which she still grasps.

“It’s okay,” Maka says; she brings the hand to her lips, presses a kiss to it. “I still wanna know what you see.”

Crona sobers up a bit, pulls away the other hand, and meets her eyes,

To begin showing her.

“Before I came here, they were mostly bad words,” they explain. “B-but after I met you, they started to get better.

“Right here,” they say, running their hand over the scar on their wrist, “it says ‘cute.’ It showed up the first time you called me that.”

“And here,” they touch their forearm, “It says things like ‘lovely,’ ‘nice,’ ‘thoughtful,’ and ‘kind’…which you say to me all the time.”

Touching one shoulder: “Right here, it says ‘strong.’”

And the other, “‘Selfless.”

Beneath their collarbones, “’Wonderful,’ ‘mine.’”

And their ribcage, “’Healed,’ ‘alive.’”

And Crona keeps going; speaking as earnestly as only they can, showing her the litany of compliments she’s given them without even realizing they may stick, her eyes growing wider and more touched all the while.

“And…”

Crona gulps, taking their dry fingertips to their throat, touching the dark ring where a noose once badly bruised their life.

“Here,” they say,

“It says, ‘saved.’”

They glance up once more, and Maka is starting to cry.

“I-I’m sorry—” Crona squeaks. “D-don’t cry, I don’t have to tell you anymore—“

Maka silences them with a kiss; firmly cradling their face, her arms wrapping around their shoulders, her body impressing against theirs, she’s never kissed them harder.

When she pulls back, she is smiling through her tears. She brings her hands around to touch their neck, to touch the scar.

Her thumb runs right across the word ‘saved,’ and it makes Crona shiver.

“Crona. I’m crying because I’m relieved.” She gazes at the scar for a while longer, and then looks into Crona’s eyes, caressing their cheekbones. “I’m so glad you survived.”

And as Crona’s eyes slip shut and they give into the burning urge to kiss her again, they flash back to that time in the dark; a similar, dizzying madness rises in them now the way it did them, and makes them want to giggle and snap and act on the impulses of their physical body. This time though, Maka is here to absorb their burst of energy and soothe, and she is so soft and pliant, and Crona is shaking with the feeling that they are balanced as they struggle evenly against each other; Crona feels that her sweating skin is a syringe filling their every pore with life, that they may soon overflow with this life and not even care, Maka is so pleasing to them that they can’t care…

She guides Crona’s hands lower and lower, beneath the cotton of her underwear and teaching them to play there; toying with her sort of wakes Crona up and gives them this heady focus, watching their own hands, watching the way she reacts to them like she is an instrument they’re playing…it feel serious and reminds them of how almost-naked they  _themself_ are…how scary it is to imagine that she must think their body is too skinny, too frail…

Too strange, too freaky…

Suddenly, she gently pushes them so that they’re lying flat on the bed, with her on top of them

Then she lightly kisses her way down their abdomen, eyes on theirs the whole time.

She skips down to their legs, closes her eyes. In a daze, Crona watches as she kisses her way up their thigh, lingering over the word ‘beautiful,’ and it makes them tremor all over with anticipation and nervous tension.

They gasp when her lips kiss the most sensitive part of their thigh…

“ _Maka_ …”

When she runs her hands down their hips, beginning to take the underwear with them, the daze cuts out suddenly and Crona sees nothing but the jarring  _freak_ written in black, unveiled by the cotton waistband. Crona slips their hand over the word from today fast, wrenching their eyes shut in humiliation.

Maka’s hands pause, and she hesitates knowingly.

“Is there a word here?”

Crona swallows.

“I-it says freak.”

Maka sounds devastated.

“Crona…you know that I’d never…”

“I know. It wasn’t you that time. It was someone else.”

They take a deep breath, and then stare down at her form perched between their legs.

She stares at the spot between their hips for a moment, then closes her eyes and kisses it gently; it makes them dizzy, blood rushing from head to toe, making them feel like their whole body is swimming…

The underwear come down entirely, and whispered against their bared, flushed skin, Maka mumbles,

“I love you, Crona. I promise, I love you.”

She holds their thighs in her hands, runs her tongue along their sex, and they all but come apart in her grasp.

Later on, after she’s gone to sleep, Crona stares at their naked body in the mirror once more.

They see the word _loved_  where  _freak_  once was.


End file.
